Why does no one contemplate how hard it would be for an immortal or ancient being to fall for a mortal? A May-December relationship is rough enough. What do you even call a relationship spanning centuries instead of decades?
The biggest question that comes up for me is, "what does he see in her?" (Men always tend to be older in my works. Mild daddy complex.) She must surely seem naive, lacking in knowledge, with only the vaguest fram of reference to events he's actually lived through.
What would the conversation be like? he'd have to keep reminding himself what she would and wouldn't know. Her outlook on the world couldn't possibly span the concept of centuries, making her observations rather narrow.
So many pitfalls never really explored.
And no, Pot is not calling. Both my main couples (Keila and Varick, the Shalafaes) have their disparate age dynamic. I've never done a dissertation on the subject, but I have at least brought it up. Keila doesn't understand what the vampire sees in her at first, and Morrigana's very innocence calls to Alzair.
Maybe I'll have to make it an actual point of contention.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Existential funks
Don't you just hate them?
I've been suffering from one for quite a while now. It's really put me behind on my book, on my stories, on my hobbies...pretty much on my life.
But I'm finally getting over it. I finally decided that I'm going to be the best bard I can be, and that I will continue to put out as much writing as I can, and that I will continue my attempts to entertain you.
I apologize I haven't been a very good friend or blogger lately. That is rather my fault. Needing time to evaluate my head isn't entirely the best excuse, but it's all I have.
Now, I shall be better.
I've been suffering from one for quite a while now. It's really put me behind on my book, on my stories, on my hobbies...pretty much on my life.
But I'm finally getting over it. I finally decided that I'm going to be the best bard I can be, and that I will continue to put out as much writing as I can, and that I will continue my attempts to entertain you.
I apologize I haven't been a very good friend or blogger lately. That is rather my fault. Needing time to evaluate my head isn't entirely the best excuse, but it's all I have.
Now, I shall be better.
Friday, September 23, 2011
#FridayFlash - Chad the vampire
We nearly ran into each other going opposite ways through the breakroom door. There was the normal flurry of apologies and civilities, then our auras touched.
He was a slender man, hardly more than a boy, and eager to be seen as strong. Long hair dyed black, a rough growth of stubble on his chin, and striking green eyes.
And a desperate vampiric nature that recognized the psi vamp in me.
I am stared at and lusted after all the time. In a world of tiny girls trying to be blond and generic, a black-haired Valkyrie turns heads. He was no exception, especially since my tits were right at eye level.
Very few people react with the mix of longing and awe and need that he did. His entire being begged for my attention even as his mouth hung open.
The poor thing was almost too pitiful for words. But the presence of predator made my skin prickle and drew out my hunger. The quick dilation of his pupils said he felt the same thing.
Grabbing his ponytail, I pulled him with me into an empty conference room. As soon as the door was closed, the background noise of the call center was cut off and we were effectively alone. I'd seen him a couple times since he was hired, but neither of us really knew the other.
As way of introduction, I swooped down and bit his neck.
I didn't have fangs, and didn't need blood. I needed the raw ki of other beings to feed myself, and the neck usually gave the best access to a person's chakras. This little vamp was no exception.
He gasped and cried out, arching against my mouth. Other predators tend to have a more refined taste, something sharper and richer, but he clearly didn't feed a lot. He was missing that special piquancy I cherished.
I didn't take much, but his knees buckled when I let him. With a smile, I sat on the conference table and swung my legs.
He kept moaning, slumped to the floor. Hard to blame him; I normally got dizzy when my master fed violently on me. I hadn't exactly been gentle when I latched on to him.
"Chad, right?" I asked when he looked up. His face had drained of color, but his lips were flushed. Clearly unable to speak, he only nodded. "Did you know what I was before now?"
He gained his feet unsteadily, then leaned against the wall. Chad rubbed at the spot on his neck, the ring of teeth marks already turning purple. "I wasn't exactly sure. I kinda hoped."
Something in his voice bothered me. He had an obsequiousness that didn't match the pride a psi vamp should have. "Do you even know what you are?"
Chad looked wounded, but lifted his head proudly anyway. "I'm a vampire."
I bit my tongue to keep my snarky reply inside. He was trying real hard to be a vampire. I'd seen the gothy cross under his shirt and the battered copy of Anne Rice novels on his desk. He wore his status like a chip on his shoulder, and then probably wondered why everyone was creeped out by him.
"Has anyone ever trained you? Worked with you?" I asked instead.
The desperate longing filled him again, and I instinctively wanted to push him away. "No. I..." Chad touched his neck and blushed. "I've never met another vampire. I learned from the books, but it's hard." He lowered his eyes. "I'm real hungry and weak."
Pity stirred. He really was just a kid, lost and alone in a world that didn't understand our kind. Making his way as best he could, taking any knowledge he could find, even if most of it was wrong.
I crossed to him. "Listen. I can give you some pointers, and I can help you out a little, but you can never feed on me, and I'll never really be your trainer."
"Why not?" His voice rose in pitch, and he grabbed my wrist.
I touched the bite mark, stirring energy in his system. "Because that much intimacy creates a bond. And if we bonded, my husband would kill you." I grinned. "He's a jealous master."
Chad managed to swallow his sadness and smile back. "I guess I'll take what I can get."
"Good. Let's start with your clothes...
He was a slender man, hardly more than a boy, and eager to be seen as strong. Long hair dyed black, a rough growth of stubble on his chin, and striking green eyes.
And a desperate vampiric nature that recognized the psi vamp in me.
I am stared at and lusted after all the time. In a world of tiny girls trying to be blond and generic, a black-haired Valkyrie turns heads. He was no exception, especially since my tits were right at eye level.
Very few people react with the mix of longing and awe and need that he did. His entire being begged for my attention even as his mouth hung open.
The poor thing was almost too pitiful for words. But the presence of predator made my skin prickle and drew out my hunger. The quick dilation of his pupils said he felt the same thing.
Grabbing his ponytail, I pulled him with me into an empty conference room. As soon as the door was closed, the background noise of the call center was cut off and we were effectively alone. I'd seen him a couple times since he was hired, but neither of us really knew the other.
As way of introduction, I swooped down and bit his neck.
I didn't have fangs, and didn't need blood. I needed the raw ki of other beings to feed myself, and the neck usually gave the best access to a person's chakras. This little vamp was no exception.
He gasped and cried out, arching against my mouth. Other predators tend to have a more refined taste, something sharper and richer, but he clearly didn't feed a lot. He was missing that special piquancy I cherished.
I didn't take much, but his knees buckled when I let him. With a smile, I sat on the conference table and swung my legs.
He kept moaning, slumped to the floor. Hard to blame him; I normally got dizzy when my master fed violently on me. I hadn't exactly been gentle when I latched on to him.
"Chad, right?" I asked when he looked up. His face had drained of color, but his lips were flushed. Clearly unable to speak, he only nodded. "Did you know what I was before now?"
He gained his feet unsteadily, then leaned against the wall. Chad rubbed at the spot on his neck, the ring of teeth marks already turning purple. "I wasn't exactly sure. I kinda hoped."
Something in his voice bothered me. He had an obsequiousness that didn't match the pride a psi vamp should have. "Do you even know what you are?"
Chad looked wounded, but lifted his head proudly anyway. "I'm a vampire."
I bit my tongue to keep my snarky reply inside. He was trying real hard to be a vampire. I'd seen the gothy cross under his shirt and the battered copy of Anne Rice novels on his desk. He wore his status like a chip on his shoulder, and then probably wondered why everyone was creeped out by him.
"Has anyone ever trained you? Worked with you?" I asked instead.
The desperate longing filled him again, and I instinctively wanted to push him away. "No. I..." Chad touched his neck and blushed. "I've never met another vampire. I learned from the books, but it's hard." He lowered his eyes. "I'm real hungry and weak."
Pity stirred. He really was just a kid, lost and alone in a world that didn't understand our kind. Making his way as best he could, taking any knowledge he could find, even if most of it was wrong.
I crossed to him. "Listen. I can give you some pointers, and I can help you out a little, but you can never feed on me, and I'll never really be your trainer."
"Why not?" His voice rose in pitch, and he grabbed my wrist.
I touched the bite mark, stirring energy in his system. "Because that much intimacy creates a bond. And if we bonded, my husband would kill you." I grinned. "He's a jealous master."
Chad managed to swallow his sadness and smile back. "I guess I'll take what I can get."
"Good. Let's start with your clothes...
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Just One Bite contest
I was pretty ecstatic when my vampire story At His Knee was chosen as a semi-finalist for All Romance eBook's short story contest. I was really expecting to be rejected, so it was huge and awesome to hear.
So, voting starts October 1st, though you can go read the stories now. Please, register to vote, and support all the hard work everyone has put forth.
So, voting starts October 1st, though you can go read the stories now. Please, register to vote, and support all the hard work everyone has put forth.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Dragon trait
Someone critiqued a story of mine a long time ago, and stated they were sick of seeing dragons used as fantasy genre cars. I concede the point, especially when I see vampires being used as ubiquitously.
Dragons do deserve better than to be just vehicles. They're intelligent, proud creatures, with an interesting culture and long history. They should be main characters, not props.
But let me tell you a little secret; when dragons go to war, they do best if they have riders.
It has nothing to do with fighting prowess; dragons are hatched warriors. Nor is it they're rampant passions; they never lose so much control that they attack their own side. Even their navigation isn't doubted; all dragons have a great sense of where they are and how to get elsewhere.
Dragons, unfortunately, have no sense of distance.
They're depth perception is great, meaning they target their flames well. But once a place is more than a few wingspans away, it is merely "over there". And if they can see it, it's "right over there".
Even if right over there is sixty miles.
Dragons do deserve better than to be just vehicles. They're intelligent, proud creatures, with an interesting culture and long history. They should be main characters, not props.
But let me tell you a little secret; when dragons go to war, they do best if they have riders.
It has nothing to do with fighting prowess; dragons are hatched warriors. Nor is it they're rampant passions; they never lose so much control that they attack their own side. Even their navigation isn't doubted; all dragons have a great sense of where they are and how to get elsewhere.
Dragons, unfortunately, have no sense of distance.
They're depth perception is great, meaning they target their flames well. But once a place is more than a few wingspans away, it is merely "over there". And if they can see it, it's "right over there".
Even if right over there is sixty miles.
Friday, September 16, 2011
#FridayFlash - The Crazy Ates
The grizzled veteran stared at the youth. "And why do you want to join The Crazy Ates?"
"For glory and honor," the young man replied. No more than sixteen, his face was still soft, though tan from working the fields. Rangy, with big hands, he was just starting to bulk out with manhood.
"You ever kill something bigger than a chicken?"
The youth narrowed his eyes, jaw jutting defensively. "I've been hunting deer since I was big enough to draw a bow."
Patrons of the inn made merry, all of them mercenaries and whores. Money and alcohol flowed freely, keeping the crowd at a fever pitch. No one noticed the tense exchange in the corner.
The veteran mercenary spat a greasy gobbet to the floor. "Did some bard fill your head with bullshit tales?"
Young green eyes hardened. "What's bullshit about them?"
"I fucking knew it." The vet spat again, then drank deeply of his ale. "Johnny-on-the-farm hears some fancy words on market day, and suddenly honest work isn't good enough for him. He runs off for adventure and glory so his name can be in a song.
"But that honest work is good. It's necessary. It's a sure sight better than holding your friends guts in while he's screaming for mercy. Cow shit smells cleaner than a boy shitting himself when he dies.
"And farms got beds and farmgirls and fresh eggs. Ain't no struggle to get a fire going in the rain, or wondering if you're gonna freeze in the night, or being scared you'll get your throat slit in your sleep.
"So take my advice. Go on back home, and leave the mercing to those of us as too dumb to do no better than kill for their coin."
The young man smiled. "You've mistaken my origin." His smile deepened, revealing razor sharp teeth. "I want to kill for coin because it's in my nature." He laughed, licking his lips with a reptilian tongue.
"Fucking drakken," the veteran swore, sliding the ledger toward the boy. "Just remember who you're supposed to kill."
"For glory and honor," the young man replied. No more than sixteen, his face was still soft, though tan from working the fields. Rangy, with big hands, he was just starting to bulk out with manhood.
"You ever kill something bigger than a chicken?"
The youth narrowed his eyes, jaw jutting defensively. "I've been hunting deer since I was big enough to draw a bow."
Patrons of the inn made merry, all of them mercenaries and whores. Money and alcohol flowed freely, keeping the crowd at a fever pitch. No one noticed the tense exchange in the corner.
The veteran mercenary spat a greasy gobbet to the floor. "Did some bard fill your head with bullshit tales?"
Young green eyes hardened. "What's bullshit about them?"
"I fucking knew it." The vet spat again, then drank deeply of his ale. "Johnny-on-the-farm hears some fancy words on market day, and suddenly honest work isn't good enough for him. He runs off for adventure and glory so his name can be in a song.
"But that honest work is good. It's necessary. It's a sure sight better than holding your friends guts in while he's screaming for mercy. Cow shit smells cleaner than a boy shitting himself when he dies.
"And farms got beds and farmgirls and fresh eggs. Ain't no struggle to get a fire going in the rain, or wondering if you're gonna freeze in the night, or being scared you'll get your throat slit in your sleep.
"So take my advice. Go on back home, and leave the mercing to those of us as too dumb to do no better than kill for their coin."
The young man smiled. "You've mistaken my origin." His smile deepened, revealing razor sharp teeth. "I want to kill for coin because it's in my nature." He laughed, licking his lips with a reptilian tongue.
"Fucking drakken," the veteran swore, sliding the ledger toward the boy. "Just remember who you're supposed to kill."
Monday, September 12, 2011
An observation on bad guys
Have you ever noticed that not a lot of writers, mostly screenwriters, don't let the antagonist be in love? Sure, he has some main squeeze that he "loves", but he's ready to abandon her in a heartbeat. When she dies in the crossfire, he doesn't even stop to say goodbye.
Is that because it would make him human? Are people that afraid of liking a villain? Is there a law somewhere that says evil can't love?
Not that all antagonists should be head-over-heels in love. Some really are cold bastards. They really would use their girlfriend as a human shield.
But every now and then, it might be nice to sigh wistfully at the villains romance.
Is that because it would make him human? Are people that afraid of liking a villain? Is there a law somewhere that says evil can't love?
Not that all antagonists should be head-over-heels in love. Some really are cold bastards. They really would use their girlfriend as a human shield.
But every now and then, it might be nice to sigh wistfully at the villains romance.
Friday, September 9, 2011
#FridayFlash - Familar Whisperer
Being a familiar whisperer is not all you'd think it is. Yes, I get to work with animals and magic for a living, but no one calls when things are going right.
And no one wants to hear that their familiar is messed up because they're a bad guardian.
It sounds all PC to call the spellcaster a guardian, but we're not talking about regular pets here. Familiars require special bonding and care, and a lot of understanding. They're not easy to have, but almost no one teaches mages these things.
Take, for instance, this witch I helped about a year ago. Not a hippie-dippie wiccan, she was styling herself more old school. Herbs and rituals and imps and spirits. So she had to have a black cat. Wouldn't complete the look without one.
Problem for her is that cats, especially the black ones, love to hunt imps and other little things. They see right into the aether, and bonding with magic only enhances that aspect. No way her cat wasn't going to go nuts with all the spiritual traffic.
Surprise surprise, she got upset with him for doing what comes natural. Used to spritz him with vinegar any time he acted up. Even after I explained what was going on, she wouldn't relent. So I had to convince the distraught thing to not hunt when she was around.
It's not the animal's fault they get bonded to such nimrods. They only have so much choice in the matter. It's a rare spirit that becomes a familiar, and it's even harder for them to be special amongst the mundane.
Met a guy who only dabbled in sorcery, but he had enough power to get himself a familiar. Not that he realized it at first; he thought he just had a really smart dog.
It warps a mind to be treated like a normal dog when you know you're special. Try as he might, that Lab could not break through and communicate. Totally helpless, and the person he depended upon couldn't understand.
At least that guy took my advice. Now the two of them track missing kids, using their powers together.
Okay, my job isn't totally that bad. I just feel bad for the poor familiars, and I want to slap their guardians around. I wish there was an arcane SPCA for these kinda things.
There is one great thing about being a familiar whisperer; I can work with anyone's familiar. Since I'm not bonded, yet they can all talk to me, I get to watch over them sometimes. Especially the real exotic ones. Last time I checked, you couldn't take a caiman on an airplane.
Just last week I was watching over a pair of ravens for this warlock. Ravens are mischievous enough on their own. Let them learn a few cantrips, get smarter by associating with a spellcaster, and like gets real interesting.
When they weren't going in opposite directions or stealing my keys, we actually had a lot of fun together. After the hazing period, they were remarkably loving and adoring, and we had some great conversations.
Then they managed to complete a storm spell inside. My hair still smells like lightning. Last time I'll watch two ravens at once.
And no one wants to hear that their familiar is messed up because they're a bad guardian.
It sounds all PC to call the spellcaster a guardian, but we're not talking about regular pets here. Familiars require special bonding and care, and a lot of understanding. They're not easy to have, but almost no one teaches mages these things.
Take, for instance, this witch I helped about a year ago. Not a hippie-dippie wiccan, she was styling herself more old school. Herbs and rituals and imps and spirits. So she had to have a black cat. Wouldn't complete the look without one.
Problem for her is that cats, especially the black ones, love to hunt imps and other little things. They see right into the aether, and bonding with magic only enhances that aspect. No way her cat wasn't going to go nuts with all the spiritual traffic.
Surprise surprise, she got upset with him for doing what comes natural. Used to spritz him with vinegar any time he acted up. Even after I explained what was going on, she wouldn't relent. So I had to convince the distraught thing to not hunt when she was around.
It's not the animal's fault they get bonded to such nimrods. They only have so much choice in the matter. It's a rare spirit that becomes a familiar, and it's even harder for them to be special amongst the mundane.
Met a guy who only dabbled in sorcery, but he had enough power to get himself a familiar. Not that he realized it at first; he thought he just had a really smart dog.
It warps a mind to be treated like a normal dog when you know you're special. Try as he might, that Lab could not break through and communicate. Totally helpless, and the person he depended upon couldn't understand.
At least that guy took my advice. Now the two of them track missing kids, using their powers together.
Okay, my job isn't totally that bad. I just feel bad for the poor familiars, and I want to slap their guardians around. I wish there was an arcane SPCA for these kinda things.
There is one great thing about being a familiar whisperer; I can work with anyone's familiar. Since I'm not bonded, yet they can all talk to me, I get to watch over them sometimes. Especially the real exotic ones. Last time I checked, you couldn't take a caiman on an airplane.
Just last week I was watching over a pair of ravens for this warlock. Ravens are mischievous enough on their own. Let them learn a few cantrips, get smarter by associating with a spellcaster, and like gets real interesting.
When they weren't going in opposite directions or stealing my keys, we actually had a lot of fun together. After the hazing period, they were remarkably loving and adoring, and we had some great conversations.
Then they managed to complete a storm spell inside. My hair still smells like lightning. Last time I'll watch two ravens at once.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
#TuesdaySerial - Keila and Varick 5
Telling yourself you could live without something was a far cry from actually doing it. As Varick drank, I was almost convinced I would never be able to live without him.
I nearly screamed when he stopped and moved away. Thwarted orgasm stiffened my muscles, and i ached, arching uncontrollably. Blood trickled down my neck, and I wanted Varick to be feeding still.
The vampire wanted to be feeding still, and he was tortured by need. "Have you candles or a lamp?" His voice was husky, and it raised the hairs along my arms. "I would see you."
Making my limbs work took effort, but I got my bedside lamp on. Pale light filled the room, softly illuminating the German.
A smear of blood stained his lower lip, and his hair was tangled around his head. "Undress." Barely restrained desire filled his voice.
I rose, taking care not to fall and look like a fool. My head only spun a little, but my legs were still trembling. Holding Varick's gaze, I pulled my shirt over my head. "I had no idea it would affect you that night, me getting undressed in front of you."
He stayed absolutely still, almost relaxed. Anyone not connected to him wouldn't know of his inner turmoil. "When I pinned you to the wall, it was hard for me. When you first slept wounded in my bed, it was hard for me."
My hands shook as I undid my pants. We hadn't gotten a chance to really talk about what had happened between us. I wanted to know so much, but I was afraid to ask.
Varick wasn't as tongue tied, and spoke as he closed on me. "I did not know I could trust you, but I was painfully drawn to you. More than just appreciating having a half-naked woman at my mercy." I pushed my pants down my hips, and his eyes followed the movement. "You affect me in special ways."
Denim pooled around my ankles, and I stepped free of my pants. My heart thundered as I watched him, and his hands on my scars made me shiver. "That's an awful lot to be responsible for."
The German pressed himself against me, a couple inches taller than me in his Doc Marten's. He ran his nails up my back, then unhooked my bra. "Do not think on it. Simply accept it."
I kissed him.
My actions surprised us both. Self-assured and strong didn't translate to me being sexually forward. I'd always thought of myself as more restrained, as not really being a sexual conqueror.
But Varick brought out a lustful side I'd never expected.
He sighed with pleasure and kissed me back, sliding my bra straps off my shoulders. Strong fingers played across nerves and tattoos, making me whimper.
Since the first night he'd been in here, I'd wanted Varick to tumble me back into my bed and ravage me. I shivered in joy as he finally did so.
I nearly screamed when he stopped and moved away. Thwarted orgasm stiffened my muscles, and i ached, arching uncontrollably. Blood trickled down my neck, and I wanted Varick to be feeding still.
The vampire wanted to be feeding still, and he was tortured by need. "Have you candles or a lamp?" His voice was husky, and it raised the hairs along my arms. "I would see you."
Making my limbs work took effort, but I got my bedside lamp on. Pale light filled the room, softly illuminating the German.
A smear of blood stained his lower lip, and his hair was tangled around his head. "Undress." Barely restrained desire filled his voice.
I rose, taking care not to fall and look like a fool. My head only spun a little, but my legs were still trembling. Holding Varick's gaze, I pulled my shirt over my head. "I had no idea it would affect you that night, me getting undressed in front of you."
He stayed absolutely still, almost relaxed. Anyone not connected to him wouldn't know of his inner turmoil. "When I pinned you to the wall, it was hard for me. When you first slept wounded in my bed, it was hard for me."
My hands shook as I undid my pants. We hadn't gotten a chance to really talk about what had happened between us. I wanted to know so much, but I was afraid to ask.
Varick wasn't as tongue tied, and spoke as he closed on me. "I did not know I could trust you, but I was painfully drawn to you. More than just appreciating having a half-naked woman at my mercy." I pushed my pants down my hips, and his eyes followed the movement. "You affect me in special ways."
Denim pooled around my ankles, and I stepped free of my pants. My heart thundered as I watched him, and his hands on my scars made me shiver. "That's an awful lot to be responsible for."
The German pressed himself against me, a couple inches taller than me in his Doc Marten's. He ran his nails up my back, then unhooked my bra. "Do not think on it. Simply accept it."
I kissed him.
My actions surprised us both. Self-assured and strong didn't translate to me being sexually forward. I'd always thought of myself as more restrained, as not really being a sexual conqueror.
But Varick brought out a lustful side I'd never expected.
He sighed with pleasure and kissed me back, sliding my bra straps off my shoulders. Strong fingers played across nerves and tattoos, making me whimper.
Since the first night he'd been in here, I'd wanted Varick to tumble me back into my bed and ravage me. I shivered in joy as he finally did so.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Reading to my birdie
The other night, I had Aleister Growley out of his cage. He's a very dominant (borderline mean) parrot, but he and I get along really well.
Him and other people, not as well. Meaning closed doors and us alone.
So I was sitting next to him, reading from Keila 3 as I did some edits. Aleister enjoyed the attention, I was working on my book, and, apparently, my husband was outside the door listening to me.
For a while.
I got shy and blushed, because that's what I do. This wasn't exactly normal behavior for him, so I needed to know why.
"Because you sound incredible when you read." More blushing on my part. "And I wanted to hear you talk dirty." ...
Him and other people, not as well. Meaning closed doors and us alone.
So I was sitting next to him, reading from Keila 3 as I did some edits. Aleister enjoyed the attention, I was working on my book, and, apparently, my husband was outside the door listening to me.
For a while.
I got shy and blushed, because that's what I do. This wasn't exactly normal behavior for him, so I needed to know why.
"Because you sound incredible when you read." More blushing on my part. "And I wanted to hear you talk dirty." ...
Friday, September 2, 2011
#FridayFlash - Sketchy
Everyone knows tweekers came up with the term sketchy. It doesn't just mean acting like a little sketch, half there and not fully formed.
It's meant to describe when you're seeing half-formed images in the corner of your eyes, the line drawings of people and things.
Not everyone knows that the sketchy things are real.
I used to think it was just the drugs. I used to judge how much sleep I needed by how close they got, how solid they became. When they started talking to me, it was time to lay off.
But then I started seeing them even when I was straight.
That threw me for one. I didn't even touch Vicodin for six weeks. Figured I had to be on my way to permafried. Didn't need to end up in a loony bin, so I tried to detox.
None of it helped. The sketchy people kept coming to me, kept talking to me. I couldn't avoid them anymore, so I smoked me a big bowl of crystal and had a long conversation with them.
Turns out they're from another dimension or something, and they got stuck between the worlds. Only time people can see them is when their perceptions are all messed up.
I'm one of the lucky few who can actually help them. If I let them get solid enough, they can use me as a conduit, or something like that.
So that's why I was buying dope, officer. I'm trying to save a special race.
It's meant to describe when you're seeing half-formed images in the corner of your eyes, the line drawings of people and things.
Not everyone knows that the sketchy things are real.
I used to think it was just the drugs. I used to judge how much sleep I needed by how close they got, how solid they became. When they started talking to me, it was time to lay off.
But then I started seeing them even when I was straight.
That threw me for one. I didn't even touch Vicodin for six weeks. Figured I had to be on my way to permafried. Didn't need to end up in a loony bin, so I tried to detox.
None of it helped. The sketchy people kept coming to me, kept talking to me. I couldn't avoid them anymore, so I smoked me a big bowl of crystal and had a long conversation with them.
Turns out they're from another dimension or something, and they got stuck between the worlds. Only time people can see them is when their perceptions are all messed up.
I'm one of the lucky few who can actually help them. If I let them get solid enough, they can use me as a conduit, or something like that.
So that's why I was buying dope, officer. I'm trying to save a special race.
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